Her World, Contained to a Few Pages of Neat Script
by Tari Seregon
Summary: Ron is about to discover that Hermione's life is more than just books and a few letters to Krum.
1. A Discovery

Her World, Condensed to a Few Pages of Neat Script

Ron is about to find out that there's a lot more to Hermione's life than just a books and a few letters to Krum.

**R**on arrived in the Common Room a little while after Harry had. Usually they would get back at the same time for Quidditch Practice, but today, Ron had told Harry to go ahead. He had needed time to think. There was a lot more running through his mind these days.

Harry was stripping muddy Quidditch robes off when he spied Ron walking sulkily over to his favorite armchair facing the fire.

"Hey, Ron," Harry said.

"Hey," Ron replied, almost inaudibly. "Where's Hermione?"

"She finished her homework early and decided to go up to bed. Why?" he asked, his interest peaking.

"No reason."

Recognizing that this was not the usual upbeat Ron who was always looking for something to prod Hermione about, Harry asked, "Is everything alright?"

"Hm?" Ron mumbled, looking over lazily to where Harry was crouched over ad taking off his hand guards. "Yeah, 'course. I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

He still wasn't convinced. He walked over to the fire and pretended to warm his hands, although he figured it was probably pretty obvious that he was trying to push Ron to tell him what the matter was. "Come on, Ron, I know you're not okay. You haven't been acting yourself lately. You haven't bugged Hermione to help with homework all week."

He seemed to stiffen at Hermione's name, but then sunk back into his chair. "Well, it's just . . . I dunno. I s'pose you're right about the whole thing about not being myself. Or maybe it's just that I'm being more of myself than I've ever been, and it's kinda scaring me."

Now Harry knew for sure that Ron was off his rocker. This statement was way to philosophical for someone who needed help with every single assignment he was given. Harry shot him a look out of the corner of his eye, but Ron just kept staring straight into the fire.

"Whatever," Harry said, yawning. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay," Ron murmured.

"Promise to go to bed – you haven't gotten a wink of sleep in a couple of weeks."

"Okay."

"Don't forget to finish your Divination homework before you do, though."

"Harry, you're sounding like Hermione."

Harry smiled and said, "I know. I have a feeling that that's what you need right now – a little bit of Hermione."

Ron turned back to look at him. He had apparently taken this completely differently than Harry had intended.

"Harry, if you're implying that I might feel certain things for Hermione –"

"No, that's not what I meant," Harry stuttered. "I meant . . . I dunno. Just don't stay up all night again."

"I won't," Ron lied. As he heard Harry's footsteps fading up the stairs to the Dormitories, he admitted to himself that he had no intention of going to sleep. He had too much to think about.

He thought for awhile, until about one or two o'clock, but then he remembered Harry's warning that he had better finish his Divination homework. It was the last thing to do right now. There were many things he wanted to do – things he had a feeling Harry was beginning to figure out – but his Divination homework was certainly not one of them. He walked over to the desk where his books were still strewn across its surface from when he had stopped early to go to Quidditch Practice and Hermione had taken over custody of the desk. Not like he had gotten much done while he had sat there – he had been thinking again.

For some reason, he had been doing a lot more thinking recently.

Ron plopped himself down in the chair and looked at the towering pile that was beset before him. He thought to himself that although he was supposed to be doing homework, he could still be thinking at the same time. He reached for the first book, then withdrew his arm. Who was he kidding? He would get nowhere if he were to sit there and "do his homework" but think about other things at the same time. Still, he was capable of multi-tasking, as he had proved to Hermione on numerous occasions.

There it was again. _Hermione_. For some odd reason, that name had been popping up quite a bit in his thinking recently.

"Hermione," he said to himself quietly. "She would be pushing me to finish this stupid essay. And Hermione is always right, even if the thinking I have the desire to do is on her behalf."

Again, he reached for his book, and again, he withdrew. Not because he didn't want to do his homework, however, but because something else had caught his eye.

A small, red book with the name _Hermione Jane Granger_ written in neat script across the top seemed to glisten in the moonlight reflecting from the windows behind him. _Read me_, it called to him.

"No, I can't read that. It's Hermione's private journal," he muttered. But really, he was only saying this to himself so he could tell Hermione that he had tried to convince himself against reading it. Curiosity took over, and he grabbed for the book and opened it to the first page.

This book belongs to Hermione Jane Granger.

Songs and Poems from the Heart

Confidential

Ron laughed to himself. Hermione may be book smart, but she obviously didn't know that if you were to write _confidential_ on the first page of a book where the line before it was _Songs and Poems from the Heart_, the person with the book in their hands would be inclined to turn the page even more.

And turning the page is exactly what he did next.


	2. Fell

"_Fell"_

_There are so many words never to be said,_

_So many things I will never tell,_

_Floating in my mind, released into my head._

_I thought I had just tripped; now I realize I fell_

_Deeper and deeper into love with you._

_But what is this love they speak of, anyway?_

_All the things I thought I'd never do,_

_All the things I knew I'd never say._

_Is it the way you call my name?_

_Or how you light up the world?_

_It's no longer just a game –_

_I only want to be your girl._

_Want to hold you so tight_

_And whisper all my dreams_

_But you consume my dreams tonight_

_In this deep and endless sleep._

_I tried to deny my feelings for you_

_Because I did not want to feel this way._

_I wish I could know why I do what I do_

_Or why I say the things that I say._

_But the things that I don't are what hurt me the most_

_Cuz it makes me realize that you are not mine._

_And if you were I would brag and I'd boast_

_To have such a love with you, so divine. _

_Is it the way you call my name?_

_Or how you light up the world?_

_It's no longer just a game –_

_I only want to be your girl._

_Want to hold you so tight_

_And whisper all my dreams_

_But you consume my dreams tonight_

_In this deep and endless sleep._

_You can't be gone – you were never here._

_You're always too far, yet so very near._

_Just a brush past my fingers, the tips on your face._

_I need you here with me, in this place_

_Right now._

_Is it the way you call my name?_

_Or how you light up the world?_

_It's no longer just a game –_

_I only want to be your girl._

_Want to hold you so tight_

_And whisper all my dreams_

_But you consume my dreams tonight_

_In this deep and endless sleep._

_There are so many words never to be said,_

_So many things I will never tell,_

_Floating in my mind, released into my head._

_I thought I had just tripped; now I realize I fell._

Dear Journal,

It's my first song ever, but it completely expresses the way I feel right now. I mean, I had no idea things could happen so fast! One minute, he's my friend, nothing more. He's just a tall kid with red hair who stood up for me when Malfoy called me a Mudblood and would hold me when I cried because Buckbeak had been executed. The next minute, my teeth seemed too big and my hair seemed too frizzy and my eyebrows seemed much too thick and I found myself wishing for a laser hair removal technician to come and take it all away. And I realized how lucky I was to have a guy who would hold me when I fell into his arms and cried until my eyes were red and would try and curse Malfoy for calling me things but end up on the ground behind me belching out slugs. How many guys would do something like that?

Well, Harry might, but only as a friend.

And I can't help but think that maybe there's something wrong with me that makes me think I have a chance. I mean, the last girl he looked at was _Fleur Delacour_! She was a Veela, for God's sake! Only another Veela could compete with that!

Maybe I do actually have a chance with him. After all, he's always insulting me and ragging on Viktor.

But probably not.

Hermione

Ron's hands trembled as he turned to the next page. How many other tall red-headed kids were there in the school that had held her when she cried or defended her when Malfoy called her a Mudblood?

He couldn't think of one.


	3. Spaces

_Spaces_

_The spaces between our footsteps  
Are filled with memories  
Of us walking along the beach  
As the waves lapped our feet.  
And sometimes I wonder if it meant  
Something more than friendship when you dried my tears  
And why, if you're not here,  
Do the memories still remain?_

_The spaces between the days  
The hours I'm awake  
Seem to last forever.  
And so science says that time goes on.  
But if time goes on,  
Then why does it feel like it keeps stopping?  
Every time I look at you, my heart falls  
Deep into my chest, farther into space._

_The spaces between your world  
And mine seem to never end.  
Stretching across endless deserts  
That could go on for miles if we let them.  
Why don't we stop those spaces from growing?  
Why can't you just go back  
To the way you were before things changed?  
And where do these deserts lead?_

_The spaces between my words  
Grow longer as I speak.  
Those long pauses that I thought would never come  
From lack of conversation, lack of things to say.  
How come they suddenly started appearing?  
From where do they grow?  
And why do they keep coming  
When I always have more to say?_

_I thought that you would fill all the spaces up for me.  
I thought they'd be all gone.  
I thought you could change everything  
That I had ever done.  
And I thought the emptiness would be filled  
And that I would no longer be alone.  
I suppose that the water came and washed away  
What used to fill all my spaces._

Dear Journal,

Okay, so it seems a little bit like I lost something that I used to have. But in a way, I sort of did. I mean, before, I used to look at him as a friend that was always there for me, and it was a comfort. Now, I know I still have the comfort of him always being there as a friend, but the fear that that's all he will ever be is beginning to overrule the comfort.

Listen to me, I sound like some obsessive stalker on a Spanish soap opera. He is _not_ going to take over my life. I will maintain composure and be the Hermione Granger I was before I realized how I really felt.

Hermione

"These are amazing," he said aloud this time, looking at the words written across the pages in front of him. He felt his confidence building. Maybe all that thinking he had done was about to pay off.


	4. Once Upon a Time

_Once Upon a Time_

_I lie in the grass, let the sun melt away  
The ice and the cold that had built up each day.  
Something in my heart burns like a flame  
That I cannot let go of just the same._

_You kept it alive, you nurtured it well.  
You helped me up when I stumbled and fell.  
I didn't know what I know now.  
You were just a friend – I didn't know how_

_One kiss, one touch  
One laugh could mean so much,  
One smile, one grin  
Can complete the world I'm in.  
One blush on one day  
You picked me up and took me away.  
My love for you is not a crime  
Cuz I live in once upon a time._

_Be my prince charming on a noble steed.  
Be my one, my only, everything I need.  
Hold me close enough to you to make me fly  
And whisper that you will never say goodbye._

_I watch from afar and wish I could be  
Your princess filled with love and beauty.  
I didn't know then what I know now.  
You were just a friend – I didn't know how, baby, _

_One kiss, one touch  
One laugh could mean so much,  
One smile, one grin  
Can complete the world I'm in.  
One blush on one day  
You picked me up and took me away.  
My love for you is not a crime  
Cuz I live in once upon a time._

_Locked in my tower, come and save me.  
All that I need is your love, baby.  
I'll leave my glass slipper so you can find  
Me in this world that I left behind.  
Don't eat the apple – there's poison inside.  
And with love's first kiss I will no longer hide  
From you.  
_

_I lie in the grass, let the sun melt away  
The ice and the cold that had built up each day.  
Something in my heart burns like a flame  
That I cannot let go of just the same._

_You kept it alive, you nurtured it well.  
You helped me up when I stumbled and fell.  
I didn't know what I know now.  
You were just a friend – I didn't know how  
_

_One kiss, one touch  
One laugh could mean so much,  
One smile, one grin  
Can complete the world I'm in.  
One blush on one day  
You picked me up and took me away.  
My love for you is not a crime  
Cuz I live in once upon a time._

_My love for you is not a crime  
Cuz I live in once upon a time._

Dear Journal,

Well, this one is much different from the others – this one makes it seem sort of like I actually have something that's worth holding on to. But it's more about how I am waiting for my prince charming, even though I can tell that he's standing right in front of me. _Right in front of me!_ Honestly, I don't know why I don't just reach out and grab him. He's so close, and yet so far away.

Today was a good day. I made some progress. I tried to fix my hair, and I didn't think it worked, but Ron told me that it looked nice. Apparently I had achieved my goal of loose, gently curls rather than the untamed ones that usually fall below my shoulders. And then after he complimented me, he asked me for help on homework, but he didn't bribe me this time. In fact, when I told him for the thousandth time that he needed to figure it out himself or he'd fail the tests when I wasn't there to help him out, he simply shrugged and walked away, then went off and sat in his armchair and attempted to decipher his Transfiguration notes.

He just sat there for a couple of hours, staring into the fire, getting nothing done. And then around midnight, just as I was packing up my books to go and get ready for bed, he walked up to me and told me that I was right – I wouldn't always be there to tell him all the answers, and he had to learn for himself. After all, when we were going to take the N.E.W.T.'s, he said, I may very well be on the complete opposite side of the room. I laughed and had a strong urge to hug him, but I refrained. Instead, I complimented him on his philosophical ways.

As I was walking up the stairs to the Dormitory, I was shocked to hear a soft, "Sweet dreams, Hermione." I stopped in my tracks, beamed to myself, and turned to face him. He was sitting in his chair, but was turned to look at me.

"Sweet dreams, Ron," I had uttered softly. And then I had walked back up the stairs and written my song, and here I am now, wishing he could read this but praying that he wouldn't.

Ron laughed to himself, thinking of the look of shock on her face if she were to see him with it now.


	5. Rocks

Dear Journal, 

Ugh, this is why love annoys me so much. I'm too depressed to even write a friggin' song. You think it's going fine, you think that _maybe_ he is starting to fall for you, and then he drops you. Hard. Like a rock hitting the water. You leave ripples in the world around you, but disappear under the surface forever. And the landing itself when you hit the water is more like a slap that burns your skin and sears through your heart.

Somedays, even though I know I love him, I _cannot stand him_.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ron read over the words slowly and painstakingly, wondering what the bloody hell he could have done. After all, what had he ever done to anger her?

Well, there was that time when he had asked her for homework help so many times that she finally shut him up with a Silencing Charm and he had followed her around the rest of the day, staring at her intently until she finally slapped him across the head.

And there was also that time when he had come in from Quidditch Practice, covered in mud, and the wind from the window had blown her Potions essay on the floor, and he had trodden on it. She had screamed at him about how she had worked on the essay for three hours and forty-five minutes, and now she was going to have to copy it all over, and he should be the one who had to copy it over for her since he was the one who wrecked it. And then he had screamed back at her that it wasn't his fault that Alicia had made them play in the rain; she was probably just taking after Wood anyways. And they had had a long screaming match until they were both red in the face and Harry came down, already showered after Practice, and told them they'd better shut up before he threw himself out the window.

And who could forget the day when . . .

He stopped himself before he got too far.


	6. Steal Away

_Steal Away_

_Where do I run when there's no where to go but home?  
And where do I go if my home is in your arms?  
And where do I run if you are the one I am running from?  
And how do I escape from your captivating charms?_

_And what if this heart were to stop beating right now,  
And I had never said what I wanted to say?  
Would you sweep me up, carry me home,  
Or would you take me away?  
_

_I promise to love you for the end of time  
Unless the end of time were today.  
Then how long would it last, may you ask?  
We'd be forever and a day._

_Steal away, hide away  
To your secret garden beyond the horizon line.  
Hold me close, let me say  
The things that got lost somewhere in time.  
Steal away, take me there  
There's nothing more I want to do  
Than to steal away  
Steal far away with you._

_I'm caught in a chasm where the lights have gone out  
And I can't see more than an inch before my face.  
I should have seen what was going to happen  
When I asked you to take me away from this place.  
_

_Whatever hope that I had is fading slowly;  
My vision is blurred behind a curtain of tears;  
The things that I wished for seem so far from me;  
And the things that I loved have become my worst fears._

I am sick of just friends, I want something more.  
I am never satisfied with what seems "good enough."  
I've tried to be cool and to keep it inside,  
But I can tell you freely, it's tough.

_Steal away, hide away  
To your secret garden beyond the horizon line.  
Hold me close, let me say  
The things that got lost somewhere in time.  
Steal away, take me there  
There's nothing more I want to do  
Than to steal away  
Steal far away with you._

_All I need is your magic touch  
To sustain me for a lifetime.  
All I need is your smile once a day  
And your fingers filling the spaces in mine.  
All I can ask is for some outside force,  
Some supernatural power above  
To change the way you feel tonight  
As I stare across to the one I love._

_Where do I run when there's no where to go but home?  
And where do I run if your home is in your arms?  
And where do I run if you are the one I am running from?  
And how do I escape from your captivating charms?  
_

_And what if this heart were to stop beating right now,  
And I had never said what I wanted to say?  
Would you sweep me up, carry me home,  
Or would you take me away?  
_

_Steal away, hide away  
To your secret garden beyond the horizon line.  
Hold me close, let me say  
The things that got lost somewhere in time.  
Steal away, take me there  
There's nothing more I want to do  
Than to steal away  
Steal far away with you.  
_

_Steal away softly…  
Steal away softly…  
Steal away softly…  
Steal away softly…_

Dear Journal,

Sometimes, I wonder what I would say if my heart were to stop beating right at that moment, and he were standing right in front of me so I could see him. Would I tell him that I loved him? Would I kiss him, like I'd been waiting to do for years? Would I even do or say anything at all?

And if I were to die, right as I was writing this, would I be happy with what I had accomplished in my life? Sure, I'd made some big happenings. I'd had good grades, I'd done my work. I'd made friends – two of the best friends anyone could have asked for – and I'd even had a boyfriend. But at the same time, even though I could look at all the positive things I had done for myself, there were a lot of things I hadn't done that were more important to me than all of the others.

I hadn't said or done anything to make him realize that I liked him. I hadn't held him and fondled him and told him affectionately that yes, I would help him with his homework, but only if he gave me a kiss. I hadn't run my fingers through his flaming hair and smiled as he held me and pressed his body to mine and told him that I was the luckiest girl in the world to be where I was.

And yet, even though I hadn't done all these things that were still on my "To Do" list, I still sit here in my bed, writing about them in my stupid journal instead of going out there and doing them. I know that right now, he's sitting down there in the Common Room in his favorite armchair, facing the fire, staring straight into it as if trying to zone out on the world. Sometimes I want to do that, too. But zoning out when I have so much on my mind is one of the things Ron is capable of that I am not.

Hermione

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reading her words, his heart beating up against his ribcage, Ron sighed. If only he had discovered this wonderful little book earlier. Because then he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not he had lived his life to the extent that he could have lived it to. He wouldn't have to worry that maybe his heart would stop beating without having said everything he needed to say.


	7. Ron's Poem

Ron sat there, the small book that had taught him so much still in his hands, and he was only half way through its contents. How long ago had she started keeping this journal? He looked back to the first entry. In the same neat script she had always had, Hermione had written, _December 13_. Looking at his watch to check the date, he realized that it had been a couple of months since she had written this.

God, _why_ had he been so horrible to her? Suddenly every mean thing he had ever said, every time he had tried to cover up for the fact that he really loved her, every time he had groaned and watched her stomp away, over to her homework, and Harry would comment on how much he hated it that they fought came flooding back to him. They came back to him and stabbed at him – not one large knife that gets it all done and over with, but a billion needles, so the pain was spread out. He remembered that when he was younger, his mother told him that it would hurt more to tap someone lightly on their chest a thousand times than to hit them hard once. That was how he felt now – like someone had tapped him on his chest a thousand times. And now a fire was raging inside of him.

Perhaps that was part of love – you go into denial, as he had for all those years. He had started noticing in the third year, when they took those trips to Hogsmeade and Harry wasn't there. He had started to notice how if they walked too close and their hands happened to brush past each others, if he just happened to touch her softly as a warning to keep away from Malfoy, they would both look down at their hands and drop them quickly and blush profusely. Then, Ron had started to notice that Harry could easily grab Hermione's hand and lead her somewhere without her thinking anything of it. But he had known that had Ron grabbed her hand and led her somewhere, they both would have felt awkward.

And then he had just kept denying things, until he would lie there in bed at night after a long argument with her and think to himself, "I never liked her. After all, if we really liked each other, would we fight this much?"

His fourth year had rocked his world entirely – especially once Viktor Krum, who used to be Ron's idol, came to school. Suddenly the guy he had wanted to be so bad was the major villain in his life. The little statue he had bought at the Quidditch World Cup had been used as a hacky-sack for a couple days before he got sick of missing whenever he tried to kick it up again, and eventually resorted to breaking the arm off.

And yet, although he hated this guy so much, he still wanted so badly to be like him. Because he knew that if he were to be like Krum, he may very well have had the world's best girlfriend. And he also wouldn't have had to sit there at the Yule Ball, scowling at the two of them dancing, while Padma Patil came up to him and scolded him for not dancing with her the whole time.

Why did she like him so much, anyways? After all, what was so special about _Viktor Krum_? Just because he was a Quidditch player and he was seventeen and he was pretty good-looking and he got good grades and he appreciated her and he complimented her didn't mean he would make a good boyfriend.

Ron stopped himself before the steam began flying from his ears.

The guy couldn't even pronounce her name!

"_Herm-oh-ninny, Herm-oh-ninny, Herm-oh-ninny,_" he mocked the Bulgarian Quidditch player. "Come on, Hermione, if you're going to kiss the guy, you should at least make sure he can say your name right before you do it."

And then, their fifth year. There wasn't a lot of "action," if you could call it that, in that year. Mostly a lot more fights, and a lot more times where Ron would exclaim that the amount of work she took on was unhealthy and that it just made it all worse to write the novels to Krum that she wrote about once a month. Except, of course, for that kiss on the cheek.

Up until that moment, Ron had been wrestling with his senses. Did he love her? Did she love him? Was she _ever_ going to stop writing those letters to _Vicky_? And then, when she had stood on her tip-toes and gently caressed his cheek with her lips, he had stopped short. It had been thrown into sharp relief. All of those sickening knots tying up in his stomach when Krum would flirt with her, all of those dirty looks he threw her when she talked about Lockhart, all symptoms of something bigger than both of them.

And still, being the stupid boy that he was, he was not able to pinpoint exactly what that something was.

Presently, he turned to the very last page of the book. He expected that there wouldn't be any writing in it at all, but he was quite wrong. There was no song, like most of the other entries had, but there was an entry in itself – and it was dated with today's date.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dear Journal,

Ron's been acting so odd lately. He has been coming in from Quidditch Practice long after Harry. He will sometimes hang back after class and tell us to go ahead – he needs to be with himself for awhile. And so Harry and I run ahead, and I can't help but look over my shoulder to see what he's lingering to do. But usually, all I see are his deep eyes staring out into space. It looks like he's thinking. I can only imagine what he thinks about.

And he never talks to me anymore for more than a minute. I'll ask him a question, just to make conversation – maybe even start an argument – but he simply answers me with a deep stare that bares down into my soul and questions me from the inside, and then responds almost inaudibly to what I asked. I never thought I'd say this, but I miss the arguments we used to have. At least then he'd acknowledge my presence.

Well, this is the last page of the journal. I need to go out and buy a new one. Who knows? Maybe by the time I can get to Hogsmeade to buy a new one, I won't have to write any depressing songs anymore. But by the way things are going, I doubt that sincerely.

Always,  
Hermione

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ron put the book down and buried his face in his hands.

"Now you've done it, mate," he muttered to himself.

He heard above him the gently sound of a door closing upstairs and to his right. He knew what was up there. A sweet, slow melody was coming from the person descending the staircase. It was a voice that he knew quite well, and a song he had read over and over again in the past few hours.

"_Steal away, hide away  
To your secret garden beyond the horizon line.  
Hold me close, let me say  
The things that got lost somewhere in time.  
Steal away, take me there  
There's nothing more I want to do  
Than to steal away  
Steal far away with you."_

A gentle sound filled the air as she switched from singing the song to humming it. She came down the stairs, wearing only a towel. Her hair was wet, and steam issued from her body. Ron figured that it was the mixture of the warm water from her shower with the cold air inside the Common Room – the fire had gone out hours ago.

Her eyes were closed as she cakewalked over to the desk, dancing in circles and spinning with an imaginary dance partner. Ron had a fairly good idea of who it might be.

In that moment, she stopped dancing and opened her eyes, only to screech shrilly and drop her towel a little further than she intended.

"Ron, what are you doing here? It's three in the morning!" Hermione cried, adjusting the towel so that less skin was showing.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked her right back. Although truth be told he was quite pleased that she was – especially after that little spectacle.

"I . . . I still have some homework to finish. _Huge_ Ancient Runes essay due tomorrow," she said hastily, pulling some of the hair that was plastered to her face behind her ears. "Also, I came down so I could retrieve my necktie."

Sure enough, right on the chair where Hermione had been sitting all day was the red and gold striped necktie.

"I just didn't think anyone else would be down here," she said in barely more than a whisper. She grabbed the necktie and went back upstairs to dress herself. Of course, had Ron's opinion been asked, he wouldn't have minded her staying down there just the way she was, but that was completely beyond his control.

About fifteen minutes later, Hermione came downstairs again, this time fully clothed (much to Ron's dismay). Her hair was dryer, as well – the curls hung loosely about her neck and were full and reflected the moonlight shining through the window.

"What are you staring at?" she asked quietly.

"N-nothing," Ron lied, knowing that his attempts to cover up for his staring had failed miserably. He hadn't even realized he was staring. Then again, it was hard to keep his eyes off her.

Hermione strode casually over to the desk and plopped herself down amid the huge pile of homework, some of which was mixed with Ron's unfinished essay. But then her eyes widened, and she began searching frantically around for something – and Ron knew exactly what that something was.

"Ron, have you seen a small book with my name engraved in it?" she asked. Ron sighed and held up the book, a smile playing in the corner of his lips. Hermione's mouth dropped open and she ran over to Ron, snatching the book from his hands.

"How dare you take this off my desk! It's my private property! I didn't want anyone reading it!" she cried, horror reflected in her expression. She added, in a whisper, "You read it, didn't you?" He could see the curtain of tears closing over her eyes. He didn't want her to cry. He didn't want to cause her any pain.

"You know, Hermione, you have a real knack for poetry," he said, still smiling.

"Will you stop mocking me? I don't appreciate it!" she exclaimed, inching farther and farther from him. He stood up and walked closer to her.

"Seriously, 'Mione, you do. You managed to capture my feelings exactly," Ron said. He hoped she didn't think he was lying, because there was never a truer thing that he had said.

"W-what?"

"Do you know you beautiful you look, Hermione? With the light dancing in your eyes, and the way that their color compliments your hair, and the way you look when you smile and laugh."

"Ron, stop it."

"And the way you say my name – it sounds like . . . chocolate for my ears. Am I doing alright, Hermione? Is my poetry getting better?"

"Ronald –"

"And you know, I never really hated it when you called me Ronald. In fact, I thought it was adorable. I thought so many things. I just wish they could all come true."

"But Ron!"

"Why can't you just take me seriously?" he asked. He had spilled out his soul. He had poured out his guts. And she wasn't taking him seriously!

"Because, Ronald – Ron – I just . . . I can't take you seriously! I just can't! It would be impossible for you to love me like I love you. Impossible."

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth, her cheeks turning bright red. She spun on her heels and began running towards the Dormitory again. Ron had had so many chances before – he couldn't let her get away this time.

"Hermione!" he called to her softly. She didn't stop. He reached out to her and gently touched her arm. She turned to face him again, some of her tears having already fell, others still glittering behind her eyes. She was searching his soul for some sign that he was lying, but she was unable to find one. Now Ron knew how he had made her feel all those times when he had stared her down, when he had answered her with a deep stare that bore down into her soul and questioned her from the inside.

"Oh, Ron," she said, and she collapsed into him. He gently encircled her waist with his arms and held her close and let her cry into his chest. He held her tightly. He never wanted to let her go. His hands stroked her hair and he rested his head gently on top of hers, murmuring words of comfort.

"Sh, it's alright, Hermione. I'm here. It's alright." He wasn't really sure whether or not these words were a comfort, but they seemed to be, as she raised her head slightly and locked eyes with him. A smile crossed her face.

"You've already seen my poetry – let's see yours," she sniffled. Ron grimaced, thought hard, and recited:

"_There have been days where the sky was all gray  
And hope seemed far beyond our reach.  
And I would sit there and hope for the day  
When the student would be the one to teach.  
You always seemed so confident, secure,  
And the words always came out right.  
But for me, I was never too sure  
Of which words to use so you'd see the light.  
Although I can pray and although I can hope  
They have never done much for me,  
Because the things that always say the most  
Are the things that seem so crazy.  
Crazy, they call it, how a few words can change  
The way I feel about you.  
But the words can't come out, they can't rearrange  
Themselves to make me do what I need to do.  
I suppose that now, nothing's the same  
As I hold you in my arms tonight,  
But I hope that this poem can make you see  
Everything in a whole new light."_

Ron stood there, still holding her, and waited for her response. At first, she just stared at him. He wasn't exactly sure what kind of a stare it was – anxious, nervous, disgusted, excited, blissful. So many words, so many different ways you could interpret her stare. But then:

"Ron," she murmured, unable to think of anything more to say. Gently, he drew her closer to him. His hand on the back of her neck drew her forward. Her hand on his back drew him forward. Neither of them made more of a move than the other – they just came together. He brushed his lips with hers gently, and she returned the gesture, pressing his body into hers.

All the words in the world could not describe the scene that night.


End file.
